


Take A Sad Song and Make It Better

by AnotherWriterWhoWrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Brother Feels, M/M, Samulet, Self-Harm, Soulless Sam Winchester, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 15:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8494420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherWriterWhoWrites/pseuds/AnotherWriterWhoWrites
Summary: When Sam is in a coma from an attempted suicide Dean is more than willing to do anything it takes to get his brother to wake up, even to go inside of his mind to force him to wake up. However once he’s inside of Sams mind he realizes that there’s a lot to his brother that he doesn’t know, and just how heavy the past weighs on his soul. Before Dean can even think of reaching Sam, the real Sam, he first has to go through the guardians of Sams memories; his own self from various points in his life.





	

It was incredible that despite being 6'4" and over 150 pounds, (he always thought that Sam was closer to 180, but the numbers on the doctor's notes tell him a different story), that Sam managed to look so small on the bed. 

The only sounds in the room were the beeping machines that counted each heartbeat and each push of breath that was being pressed into his brother’s body. Sometimes Dean was sure that his own heartbeat was being counted as well in time with the machines, it certainly felt like it.

His hand was a bit clammy, sweat covered on the inside and Dean was sure that it was the warmest part of his body because he hadn't let go of Sam's hand once since he had come to the room. 

The bandages on Sam’s wrists had been rubbing at him, but he ignored it, it wasn't really an important enough reason to retract his hand. Besides, he was gripping onto Sam’s hand too tightly to even think of letting go.

The doctor's words were still playing in the back of his mind. _"Coma from blood loss, minimal brain activity, for now all we can do is make him comfortable and wait for him to either wake up or...maybe it would be better if you talked with a counselor Mr. Whitaker."_ Some he listened to, Sam’s diagnosis and anything that was important enough; some he ignored, like the past part. Winchesters didn't do the whole counseling thing; they didn't do the talking thing. They were drastic and they were brash, upfront and personal and at times suici-- damn desperate.

Cas was standing in the corner of the room. He hadn't blinked once since he had come, drawn by Dean’s call and his clipped words. It had taken him longer to get to the hospital than usual, his depleted grace slowing him down such that he still needed to drive to get from place to place. His eyes did, however, flicker from Sam to the other corner of the room periodically and each time he would straighten himself up and for a moment Dean would swear that he saw an imprint of bone bare wings on the wall, but they always vanished the moment he thought he saw them. 

Dean wasn't sure how long it was before one of them spoke, he heard the ticking of the clock in the room, but he didn't pay any attention to it, it wasn't important; if anything it just kept track of how long Sam had been unconscious and he didn't need to know it.

He didn't want to know it.

"There is a way, to try to bring Sam back, no demon deals necessary." Cas said in a quiet voice, breaking the silence in the room for the first time since he arrived. 

Dean started but didn't move or look away from his brother. 

"I don't have enough grace to heal him, it requires more than just healing his physical self, but also his mental one as well. Sam has always been....damaged on that level, from his time in the Cage." 

Even though he knew that Cas was picking words carefully but still trying to keep it truthful, Dean couldn't help but tighten his grip on Sam’s hand and fight the urge to bare his teeth at Cas.

"The problem is drawing his mind back to the conscious; taking him from his subconscious and placing him back in control." Cas continued, his eyes flickering from Dean to Sam and then back to the corner of the room. "I can't bring him out, not at this time."

"Then what the hell are you suggesting to me?" Dean finally spoke, his voice rough from hours of not being used. 

"I suggest that I send you into his mind." Cas told him, eyes firmly on the corner. "You are his brother and lover Dean, you know him better than anyone else, and if anyone could get Sam to come back to himself it would be you."

Dean snorted, his other hand going to Sam’s bandaged wrist for a moment. "I don't know him as well as we all thought. He did this and I....I didn't even know. Didn't have a clue."

A warm hand settled on his shoulder. "You are not to blame Dean." Cas said gently. "Please do not wallow in self-pity right now, there will be time for that later, Sam needs you to bring him back to consciousness."

"If it’s that easy then why doesn't Sam just do it himself?" He hadn't mean to make it sound so rough but he couldn't help it. He was in pain and he was hurting, he needed some sort of outlet. 

Cas' hand was firm on his shoulder, almost completely attention-grabbing. 

"Because he has tried to hurt himself in this way, it’s a hard road back to conscious after a self-harming incident like this." Cas said. He pressed down a bit more on Dean’s shoulder, his voice turning firmer. "I know you can help him, no one else can."

"What about you?" Dean asked, finally tearing his eyes away from Sam’s face -- he refused to acknowledge the fact that Sam was paler than how he had been when he had first been placed in the bed -- to look at Cas. "What are you going to do?"

"I will send you into Sam’s mind, of course." Cas said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It faded when he looked back to the corner. "I will watch over the both of you, as I've always done."

Dean glanced back at Sam, eyes roaming over his smoothed-over face, the tube down his throat, the mask over his face. There were deep circles under his eyes and he was thin and gaunt. How he hadn't noticed that Sam was losing weight? How he hadn't noticed that Sam hadn't been sleeping? He had no clue but he intended to fix all of it.

"There's nothing else we can do?" he asked. "There aren't any spells or rituals we can do?"

"If there are, I don't know of them, and they will require time to research and perfect," Castiel told him. "And I'm afraid we might not have that time."

"Alright." Dean finally said, swallowing slightly and nodding. "Alright, send me in then. What do I have to do?"

"Find Sam’s soul." Castiel said, walking away from the wall and towards him. “Find it and place it back into the consciousness. However, I have no idea what you are to expect in there."

"What do you mean?"

Castiel glanced at Sam, his expression softening for a moment. "Sam has...been through quite a lot in his life, as have you. Humans have many ways of dealing with their trauma and their experiences. I have no idea how Sam chooses to deal with his, but more likely than not, you will encounter it."

Dean looked back at his brother, squeezing Sam’s still hand. "I can handle it."

"I know you can. Just focus on Sam." Castiel murmured, his hand reaching out and pressing his fingers against Deans forehead. His other hand went to Sam head as well. "And think of Sam."

That was the easiest part. Dean was always thinking of Sam in one way or the other. Focusing on his brother's face, Dean thought of Sam’s smile, how his eyes would sparkle whenever he found something he was interested in. He thought of how Sam looked post-orgasm, a smile on his face and his entire body relaxed. He thought of Sam’s heartbeat, strong under his hands. He thought of the flush that would spread on his cheeks when Dean would kiss him or hold his hand in public. He tried not to think of finding his brother with his wrists slit in the bathroom in a puddle of his own blood. 

Dean blinked and suddenly he wasn't in the hospital room and his brother was no longer in front of him. He closed his eyes at a sudden burst of white light, trying to block it out.

When he opened them again, the white light was gone, and he realized with wide eyes that he was in complete darkness. Raising his hand in front of his eyes he couldn't even see it. Extending it outward and feeling nothing but open air he pushed down the fear of the unknown and slowly walked forward, taking small steps and keeping his hand in front of him. 

His ears and eyes were strained for a single hint of anything, a sound or a movement; not that he could tell much in the darkness. His footsteps and his heartbeat in his ears were the only sounds that there were. 

A thought wormed its way into his mind and he tried with everything he had to push it away; that he had been too late and there was nothing to save. That Sam was braindead like the doctor had hinted at and there was nothing left to bring back to the forefront of Sam’s mind. That a reaper had come and taken Sam’s soul right in front of him and he wasn't able to do a single thing about it, that he didn't even know that it was happening.

He suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of pages in a book being turned, louder than anything in the abyss of the room. Just as he heard and registered the sound, light flashed throughout the entire space, blinding him. The light quickly settled into a more visible spectrum, no longer burning his eyes. Squinting past the tears from the light he rubbed at his eyes and looked around for the source of the sound. 

He turned to find Sam sitting in a chair, leaning it back on its hind legs, staring at a book in his lap and slowly reading it, turning the pages almost lazily. 

"You don't belong here," he said without even looking up from his book. "No point in being here either, you should leave."

Dean straightened up slightly and walked over to his brother, realizing that he was younger; he almost looked the same age that Sam had been when Dean visited him at Stanford. 

"Sam, listen to me," Dean said. "You're dying, you need to come with me and wake up."

Sam snickered and turned a page in the book. "Nice try."

"I'm being serious," Dean said, feeling more than a bit rushed, he had no idea how long they had. "You need to come with me, you're going to-"

"Die." Sam finished. He closed his book with a dull bang and finally looked up at Dean. "You think I don't know that?"

Dean stopped at that, staring his brother down. "You want to die?" he asked lowly. 

Sam shrugged. "Not really up to me. We came to a decision and well..." he glanced around the room. It was completely empty except for the two of them. "I'm just enjoying the last of it before we go."

"Go where?" Dean asked, feeling his hands start to shake. 

Sam shrugged once more. "Don't know. Wherever we go when we're going to die."

"What the hell are you talking about, man?" Dean asked, reaching out to grasp Sam by the arm, almost amazed at how firm and warm he was, almost like he was alive. "What do you mean, 'we'?"

Sam stared up at him, unbothered by the tight grip Dean had on his arm. "I'm not the only Sam." he said. "There are lots of us, just like there's lots of you inside of your mind and soul." He pulled his arm free from Deans grasp and let his chair fall forward, the front legs banging loudly against the ground. "Each one is different, I don't know how we're born or what, but we're all here and we all came to a decision."

"To do what, let yourself die?" Dean asked harshly. "Because, newsflash Sam, that ain't the way to go."

Sam shook his head. "Not to die, not like you think," he corrected him. "To kill ourselves, we all needed to agree on that one."

Dean stopped completely, feeling a short of chill go through him. Neither he nor Cas had actually _said_ the words out loud; saying it almost became like taboo.

That Sam had tried to kill himself.

"Finally admitted it, you were skirting around it for a while, apparently," Sam said with a touch of amusement. "Yeah, we decided to kill ourselves. Not the first time we decided to do it, to be honest, but it’s the first time we're getting so close." He gave a small almost sad smile. "We're so close to free that we can almost taste it."

Dean shook his head. "No, no you don't get to do this Sam, not like this." he said, reaching out to take Sam’s arm once more. "You can't die Sam, not now, not like this." At that moment, he suddenly realized everything that Sam had just said, with a sinking stomach. "What do you mean 'it’s not the first time you decided'?"

"Finally heard that one, huh? Guess you always did have selective hearing." Sam said with a small sigh. "We've thought about it quite a few times, Dean, couple times we even went through with it, but something would always bring us back one way or the other." 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked in a horrified voice. "When did you try to kill yourself? How didn't I know?"

Sam smiled up at him, even gave a small laugh. "We've thought about it many times, did it a few times as well, we knew how to hide it because of many reasons from you; that's how you didn't know, and when did we try to kill ourselves?" He looked thoughtful for a moment. "A lot of times, sometimes because of something you did or something you said or something you didn't understand."

Breathing heavily Dean tightened his grip on Sam’s arm. "When?" he asked in a dangerous tone. 

"Which ones?" Sam asked with obvious amusement. 

"When did you try to kill yourself?" Dean asked through clenched teeth. 

Sam gave a small hum, leaning back in his seat once more, staring at Dean with surprisingly clear eyes. "Would you like to see?" he asked.

The question snapped Dean out his rage for a moment. "What do you mean?"

Sam snickered. "We're in Sam’s mind, we're surrounded by his memories, and more importantly, I'm here." he said waving a hand over himself. "Any of us can access his memories, and we can show it to you."

"Any of you?"

Sam snickered once more. "I'm a version of him, a manifestation of Sam’s memories, specifically, I'm a manifestation of his memories at Stanford." he smirked at Dean. "From the moment he arrived to the second that Jess died and he left, that's what I represent."

Dean paused and looked over Sam, the memories of Stanford, once more. He was dressed more casual than Dean had ever seen his brother dressed, he had a youth to his face, a light in his eyes that was absent from Sam’s eyes usually; something he hadn't noticed until this moment when he saw it in Sam’s eyes and realized that it wasn't in the eyes of the Sam he knew.

"So there are...how many of you?" Dean asked, trying to wrap his mind around the concept. 

"A lot," Stanford-Sam, said simply. "We're all in charge of the memories we represent, we're tasked with keeping the memories in check and keep them from overwhelming him. We're all affected by the memories we're in charge of in one way or the other." He smiled at Dean. "Whenever it’s time for a big decision to be chosen we all have a vote, a true democracy in here with everyone getting one vote with the majority winning."

Suddenly Stanford was right in front of him, staring him in the eyes just a few centimeters away. 

"I'm basically the only happy one, the only one that's relatively sane." Stanford told him. "Everyone else is depressed as hell, some are suicidal to the point that they can barely function, and barely do what they're supposed to do. There are only a handful of us that actually do what we're supposed to be doing." He leaned back and shrugged. "We're all tired, we're all done, and so, we decided to end it." He turned and sat back down in his chair, picking up his book and opening it again. "We decided that we've had enough."

"So you have Sam cut his wrists and leave him to bleed to death." Dean said bitterly, eyes narrowing. 

Stanford nodded and turned the page. "So I'm going to ask again Dean, wanna see? While you still can of course."

"I want to get Sam out of here and back to the real world." Dean shot at him. "I want him to wake up."

Stanford winked at him. "Good luck with that." he said sounding half sincere. “Because you need to find his soul and you're not going to."

"Why not?" Dean demanded straightening up and trying to glare down at Stanford. 

Shaking his head Stanford turned his attention back to the book, leaning back in his seat to read the page. "You still haven't answered the question."

Dean was getting quickly fed up and anxious, he was wasting too much damn time here. "What question?"

Stanford glanced up at him over the top of the book. "Do you want to see when we thought about and when we tried to kill ourselves?"

Dean stared at him incredulously, not believing that he was being asked this. "What the hell kinda question is that?"

"A curious and honest one." Stanford said. "You're here, you want to know about when we tried to kill ourselves, seems like the only thing for you to do is to see it for yourself."

Dean shook his head. "I want my brother." he said, walking forward towards him. 

Stanford smiled at him and Dean felt a chill go down his back, it was nowhere near a nice smile. "You're not going to find him." he said. "Because we're not going to let you take this decision from us."

"This decision is a mistake." Dean said through clenched teeth. "Something I'm going to fix."

"Dean, Dean, Dean." Stanford said, shaking his head. "Always thinking that you're making the right decision. No matter the consequences." He looked up then, his eyes darker. "No matter how it hurts us."

With that he brought his hand up and snapped his fingers. 

Dean let out a small almost gasp as he was suddenly jolted out of place. He felt a tug at his navel and his entire body was jerked somewhere else. Once he was in place he stumbled, his hand coming out automatically to press against a wall that suddenly appeared. 

Taking a deep breath he straightened himself up, trying to figure out where he was, eyes widening when he realized it. 

He was in Bobby’s panic room. 

The silver prison was in crisp detail, each mark and each wooden piece in place, from the fan up above him with its slow motions.

And Sam’s screams piercing him right through to his heart.

Whirling around Dean felt all the breath leave his body at the sight of his brother on the cot, arms stretched out in either side of him, straining against leather bonds that Dean didn't remember being there. 

With Alastair standing over him, scalpel in hand and blood covering up to his elbows. 

"This didn't happen." Dean said, staring at the sight in front of him in horror. "This didn't happen. He was dead!"

"Doesn't matter if it did or didn't happen, it felt real enough." Stanford said, appearing suddenly next to him. 

Dean turned to look at him. "He's dead!" he said motioning wildly to Alastair. "He was dead by the time this was happening!"

"We know." Stanford confirmed with a nod. "But the fact of the matter is that it didn't matter if he was dead or alive, everything felt real enough that we couldn't tell the difference."

"No! Alastair, please, no, no!" Sam begged, straining against the bonds.

"So polite all of a sudden, very nice." Alastair said, waving the scalpel at him. He smiled. "I appreciate that." With another motion of his arm created another cut in Sam’s stomach, so deep he could slide his hand into it.

As Sam screamed Dean felt his own stomach twist and churn, in danger of losing his lunch. 

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded as he helplessly watched. He knew what it had been like to be under Alastair’s knife, the demon's attention. For a moment he felt like he was the one being tortured instead of Sam.

"Showing you moments when we wanted to die," Stanford said with a shrug. "Give you a bit of insight into our minds."

Sam continued to scream, pleas and cries falling on deaf ears, and Dean felt bile rise up in his throat as he heard Alastair humming along with Sam’s screams. 

"Let’s fast forward a few hours, shall we?" Stanford suggested before raising his hand and making a motion with his fingers.

They were still in the panic room, this time Sam was sitting up on the cot looking up, straight at him. 

"You see, the thing is, once things got rolling, we couldn't really tell the difference between reality or hallucinations anymore, no matter what was happening or what our mind was telling us." Stanford said conversationally. 

Sam was staring up at...him, but he hadn't been there, he had been upstairs with Bobby. 

"That's not me." Dean said, turning to look at Stanford once more, unable to keep looking at the broken look on his brother’s face. "I didn't talk with him; I never had the chance to."

"Nah, you just had a chance to lock us up and then tie us down so that we might choke on our own vomit," Stanford said shrugging. "That you had time for. But making sure we were alright, making sure we were drinking water, making sure we didn't die, that you didn't have time for."

"There's water right there." Dean said waving his arm at the pitcher and glass a few feet away. 

Stanford stared at him with empty eyes. "Doesn't mean we were able to get to it to drink it."

"And I tried so hard to pretend that we were brothers. That you weren't one of the filthy things that we hunt." the _other_ Dean, the hallucination, said, walking around the cot and staring, no full-on glaring, at Sam. "But we're not even the same species." He leaned on the rails of the cot, eyes dark and cold as he stared at Sam, a sneer on his face. "You're nothing to me."

"Don't say that to me, don't you say that to me." Sam pleaded, closing his eyes, small sobs escaping his throat. 

The real Dean closed his eyes and turned away, unable to keep watching. "I don't want to see this."

"There's a saying Dean, you will reap what you sow," Stanford said thoughtfully, leaning back against the walls of the panic room. "You didn't do it then but it’s been waiting. You've sowed a lot Dean, you've sowed a whole damn garden, time to reap it and taste the fruits of your actions."

Stanford brought his hand up once more and snapped his fingers.

And suddenly they were in front of an abandoned church; Ruby, of all people, was standing behind Sam. Dean felt the familiar churn of anger and hatred when he saw the demon, wishing he could kill her again. 

"Where are we now?" Dean asked, turning to his side.

Stanford looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Something that we still have saved on our phone."

Turning back he saw Sam staring at his phone and he smiled, remembering his voice message. 

"Still so proud." Stanford said quietly, he could almost feel the others eyes on him. "Why didn't you do it already if you're so proud?"

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked looking back at him. "I'm happy that Sam remembers the message, I meant every word of it."

"Good to know," Stanford said coldly. 

Feeling another weight in his stomach Dean turned back, hearing the voicemail in his ear as clearly as if he had been the one listening. He felt the blood rush out of his face and his heart just stop at the coldness and anger in his words. 

_"Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back."_

He couldn't breathe, especially not when he saw Sam’s face, how...broken he seemed. Even more so than when he had been in the bunker. 

His brother seemed almost....shattered, destroyed. A resigned firmness came into his shoulders and a dead look in his eyes as he said "Do it," in an empty voice to Ruby. 

"So damn proud, we wished you'd do it a few times." Stanford said quietly, however, no less maliciously.

"That's not what I said." Dean finally managed to get outas he found his voice. "That's not even close to what I said, dammit!"

He turned towards Stanford. "I never said any of that! I said that I was sorry and that we were still brothers! Someone must have changed it!"

Stanford had an empty look on his face. "Who?"

"I don't know, the angels or Ruby, I don't know!" Dean exclaimed, feeling his chest tighten as he was close to hyperventilating. "But that wasn't what I said! I never would have said something like that!"

"I think you would have," Stanford said bluntly. "I think you would have if you felt like that. You cared so little that you locked us in a room and tied us down when we were having a seizure. You didn't care if we died, so long as we 'died human.' I do think you said that."

"I'm sorry, Sammy." Dean breathed out, feeling his throat close up slightly. "But I didn't leave that voicemail, and I was just trying to help you!"

"We wanted to get off the demon blood, Dean, we hated it." Stanford told him. "And we knew that we needed help but we were afraid to ask it of you, had no idea how to even approach the idea. You were disgusted at the notion that Ruby and Sam were having sex, we didn't even want to think about how you would react to drinking demon blood."

Dean swallowed heavily, trying to unclog his throat and get it working again. "Sammy," he said in a heavy voice. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry dammit, this...this wasn't what I wanted to happen, and this wasn't what should have happened."

"But it did," Stanford said. "It did and most of it was because of you." He glanced to where Ruby and Sam walked into the church. "We were ready to die facing Lilith, we were hoping that it was going to happen like that. Better to die like that than to be placed in the panic room once more, or killed by your hand."

Dean shook his head. "I was wrong," he said. "I shouldn't have done that to you, to him, I'm sorry. The only thing that I can fight about is the voicemail, because I didn't leave that one." He looked up at Stanford. "I'm sorry about the panic room and I'm sorry about everything, but I can't be sorry for the voicemail because that one wasn't me."

A flicker of doubt appeared and vanished on Stanford’s face but before Dean could call him out on it he straightened up and adopted a blank look once more. 

"It doesn't matter what the truth is anymore," he said, clasping his hands behind him. "I've made my decision; I put it into the vote, the majority still rules." He shook his head. "I'm not changing my mind, I'm done with everything. We are going to die, Dean." He brought his head up and looked him straight in the eyes. "And there's nothing you can do to stop it."

He brought his hand up and snapped his fingers once more.

Backing up, Dean was shaking his head, trying to get rid of the images, Sam’s memories when his back hit something that felt like metal bars. 

Whirling around, his eyes widened when he realized that he was staring at a cage. Reinforced with heavy steel, runes embedded into the metal from all sides, the smell of salt so clear he could almost taste it. 

And Sam chained up in the middle of the cage, head bowed and seemingly asleep. 

He had chains wrapped all over his body forcing him to curl into an almost ball, there was a thick metal collar wrapped around his neck with even more chains linking to the handcuffs around his wrists and ankles. 

"I wouldn't wake him if I was you." Stanford-Sam advised him, reading his book once more. "It's hard work to keep him asleep and no one likes to see him awake."

Dean stared up at the Sam in the cage in horror, filled with the desire to storm into that cage and rip the chains from his brother’s image, to rip apart the collar with his bare hands and get him free. 

"Why the hell did you cage him?" Dean asked in a horrified voice, barely able to find his voice at all. 

Stanford snorted and he glanced up from his book. "Correct use of 'hell'," he informed Dean. "That version of Sam? That's the Boy King part of him."

"Boy King?" Dean repeated, turning to face the other Sam. "What the hell does that mean?"

Stanford’s eyes flickered with amusement. "It means the King of Hell, the destiny that Azazel wanted him to follow."

Turning his head to look at the Sam in the cage once more he felt more than a bit of horror at the fact that he was even inside of Sam at all. "And you just...you just let him stay here? Where he could hurt Sam?"

"He won't hurt Sam; he'll be the one to take control," Stanford said closing his book once more. "We don't hurt Sam, Dean. We...we're simply a part of Sam. Yes, we hurt ourselves sometimes and that translates to the Sam outside hurting himself, but we would never actually hurt the host."

"The host," Dean repeated, unable to tear his eyes away from the chained up version of Sam. He could barely see any clothes with how the chains were crisscrossed around him. 

"The outside Sam, the body, whatever you want to call it." he said with a shrug Dean was almost able to hear. "Point is, we can't get rid of him no matter what we do. And trust me, we've tried, Dean."

"How?" Dean asked, almost afraid to find out the answer.

"Usual exorcisms, more powerful exorcisms once we learned about them," Stanford said. "Each time we ended up just hurting ourselves and the host, although he takes it a bit differently. This demon here is embedded deep enough just like all of us."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked finally managing to tear his eyes away from the caged Sam. "How did it affect Sam?"

Stanford had a small smile on his face, almost pitying, if Dean really wanted to analyze it, and Dean felt another sinking feeling in his stomach. 

"Well obviously you've haven't been paying attention as much as you should have, not surprising since you and Sam haven't had sex in years, since Sam got out of Hell," Stanford said with a laugh. "Let’s just say, one of the ways it was expressed outside of here is...lots of blood loss, lots of cuts," his grin widened. "Lots of self-harm, Dean, lots of scars on his waist and upper legs, places you wouldn't see." He snickered lightly. "Well you would've before but like I said, you two haven't had sex in a long time."

"I thought you said you were the sane one," Dean snapped at him.

Stanford seemed thoughtful for a moment. "I guess you don't spend your existence in this mind and come out completely sane." He gave a shrug. "Doesn't matter if I'm sane or not, we're not going to be going anywhere anymore."

Dean glanced at the caged Sam once more. "Where did he come from?" he demanded. "How do I get him out of Sam?"

"We don't know," Stanford said slowly. "If we knew that, we would've been able to get rid of him a long time ago."

"Well where did he come from and why didn't you get rid of him before?" Dean snapped at him. 

"He's been here for as long as we can remember, we think it’s from Azazel’s blood," Stanford told him. "Since it was Azazel’s plan and his blood was the first demon blood we had come in contact with."

"Could've been Ruby," Dean said, spitting out the name of the demon he hated more than anyone. She was in the top five beings he hated. He turned towards Stanford, who was just staring at him with his hands in his pockets. "Why did you even trust her?"

A corner of Stanford’s lips twitched upwards. "She helped us and gave us a purpose; we were in a bad position when you were in Hell, Dean."

"Worse than Hell?" Dean asked with a scoff raising an eyebrow. "Somehow I doubt it was worse than actual Hell."

"See, that's the thing, it might've been worse," Stanford corrected him. "You were in Hell, yeah it was Hell and everything. But we were alive and on earth. We ate, you were in Hell. We slept, you were in Hell. We did anything, you were in Hell." He shook his head and sighed. "Survivor's guilt or something similar, you at least had Hell, something we all know is torture, but you knew we were alive." He brought his head up and stared at Dean. "But we had the curse of being alive and knowing that you were in Hell."

"You want to know why we trusted Ruby?" Stanford asked. "Because we had nothing left." 

He brought his hand up and snapped his fingers once more. 

Dean closed his eyes this time, he didn't want to see another memory, didn't want these distractions, because that's all they were really, distractions to try to prevent him from getting to Sam. Dimly, he could hear his brother in the background and sighed through his nose, opening his eyes.

When he finally turned to look he held back a gasp, Sam looked....well, he looked like shit, there was no other way to put it. Bags under his eyes, he could even smell the alcohol coming from him despite not being able to smell a single thing.

Sam looked as if he had been the one in Hell, not Dean.

He smiled suddenly, pain-filled and empty, desperate and self-depraving. 

"Well?" he demanded. 

Turning his head, Dean started when he realized that he was staring at a crossroads demon staring down at his brother. 

"Well, let's see that special little knife of yours first," the demon said smoothly as the red in his eyes faded.

Sam took the knife out and slammed it on the wooden table in front of them, stepping away from it a bit. "No devil's traps either, I'm not here to play games." he added, swaying in place slightly.

"Well, let me guess. You want to make a deal. And 'round and 'round the Winchesters go," the demon said and approached the table to get closer to Sam before he sighed and glanced up at Sam once more. "I'm sorry, Sam. That's not gonna happen," the demon said, shaking his head and making to move away.

Suddenly, moving so fast even Dean was shocked, Sam had grabbed the knife and slammed it into the table and into the demon's hand, pinning him in place. 

"I don't want ten years, I don't want one year!" Sam snarled out at him. "I don't want candy! I want to trade places with Dean!"

"No," the demon said simply, trying to rip his hand free from the blade. 

"Just take me! It’s a fair trade!" Sam almost screamed, desperation in every word.

"No," the demon insisted through clenched teeth. 

"Why not? Lilith wants me dead," Sam demanded. "Just let Dean go, and she can have me."

"Don't you understand, Sam? It's not about your soul. Dean's in Hell, right where we want him," the demon said with surprisingly clear eyes, even with a small smile on his face. "We've got everything exactly the way we want it. You want to kill me? Go ahead," he grinned at Sam, red sparking in his eyes. "I've made peace with my lord."

The scene changed again, Sam slumped in front of a dead body, the demon knife in his loose hand. His head was bowed and he was breathing heavily, small coughs escaping his throat, and that was when Dean realized that Sam was bleeding out, from deep, long almost claw-like marks across his chest that he was making no movement to try to stop. 

"Sam?" a disturbingly familiar voice called out. Ruby appeared and her eyes widened at the sight of Sam, hurrying to him. "Sam!"

Sam moved slightly, bringing his head up enough to be able to squint at her. "Ruby?" he mumbled. 

"Dammit, you idiot," Ruby said, pressing her hands and making pressure against the wounds. She pulled off her jacket and pressed it against his chest. "I understand you have a death wish but this is taking it to the extreme."

"No point," Sam mumbled, unable to gather enough strength to push her away. "No real point."

"There's a point in keeping you alive, since your brother sacrificed himself for you," Ruby snapped at him as she pressed the jacket harder against him. 

"Dean's gone," Sam whimpered, sounding close to tears. "He's gone, there's no real point anymore. What's the point in anything?"

"Then make it mean something, your brother’s death, him bringing you back to life and being in Hell." Ruby said suddenly. "You damn idiot."

Sam froze for a moment before he looked up at her. "What do you mean?"

"Lilith," Ruby said, keeping Sam’s gaze. "This is her fault, isn't it? Her fault you couldn't break your brother's contract, her fault that she let the hellhounds in on him?" She raised her eyebrow. "Don't you want to get back at her?"

All the breath seemed to leave Sam, and he stared at Ruby as if he was seeing her for the first time. "Lilith," he breathed out. 

Ruby nodded. "Your brother sold his soul to bring you back to life, but you are being prevented from doing the same, because of her. Because of Lilith." She reached out to take Sam’s hands. 

"Make his sacrifice mean something, Sam," she told him. "You got this second chance; make it count.” She tightened her grip on Sam’s hands.

"Make the bitch pay for not breaking Dean’s contract. She was scared of you at the end when the hounds came for Dean," Ruby continued as Sam stared at her like a condemned man being offered revelation. "Make her pay for not listening to you."

"Lilith," Sam whispered before a strange fire appeared his eyes. They narrowed and he snarled out, "Lilith."

Ruby nodded. "Kill the bitch," she said through clenched teeth. "And make her pay for taking Dean away from you."

The fire spread in Sam’s eyes and with Ruby’s help he slowly got to his feet, one arm around the demon's shoulders and the other pressing her jacket to his chest. 

"First, we need to get you strong and well," Ruby murmured to him. "Then we're going to start training and getting ready."

Breathing heavily, Dean placed one hand on the bars of the damn cage. He wished would disappear already, doubled over and trying to catch his breath. 

"What the hell is the point of this?" he demanded, voice rough. Shaking his head he swallowed and slowly straightened up before freezing, feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise in the warning that someone was staring at him. 

Looking to the side he realized that Stanford was gone, the chair was empty and the book was gone as well. 

Which meant...

Feeling the pit growing in his stomach, he slowly turned around to look into the cage, and he saw the yellowed eyes of the 'Boy King' Sam that was chained up staring straight at him. 

"Well," Boy King said, as his lips curled into a small smirk, "this is a surprise." His voice was almost like water, flowing and encompassing. Dean felt a shiver go down his spine and he took an involuntary step back. 

"What do you want?" he asked, wishing for the first time that he had a weapon with him. 

The Boy King slowly moved, the chains rattling. Even from where he was standing, Dean could tell just how little movement they were allowing him, and with every almost shudder of his chest how they were constricting his breathing. 

"Not often we get a guest like you in our little home," he breathed out. "Especially one so...infamous."

"Get out. Of my brother," Dean said through gritted teeth, his fists clenched tightly at his side. "Get the fuck out of my brother, you demon scum."

The Boy King laughed at him. "Get out?" he repeated. "I live here Dean, I am a part of here, if anyone should be getting out, it’s you."

"You don't belong here," Dean snarled, reaching out to grip the bars of the cage. 

"I belong here more than you do, Dean," Boy King said in amusement. "Your presence is making a big stir here, so much that even I'm awake, something I haven't been in a long, long time."

"Then go back to sleep," Dean spat at him. 

Boy King shrugged as best as he could. "No thank you, I don't want to, things are getting a bit interesting." He was silent for a moment before he sighed. "So, they finally pushed Sam to kill himself." He gave a side glance at Dean. "And I'm going to assume that you're here to try to prevent him from doing it, or," he licked his lips slowly. "You're here to try to get us to wake up."

Dean stared at him for a moment. "They said that I can't get to Sam’s soul without one of them helping." he said, desperate enough to even ask this one.

Boy King nodded slowly. "Yes, that's true, only one of the entities can find and open the door to the soul of the host."

"Then you can-" Dean started to say only to be interrupted by a new comer.

"Well, sounds like I've come at a good time," a new voice, familiar in the sense that it was still Sam’s voice, but was...different. Turning away from the cage Deans eyes fell on the other person.

There was another Sam there, standing next to the chair, and just...staring at him. He was older than the Stanford version, hair longer, and there was an...absence in his eyes. Something that chilled Dean to the damn bones, more terrifying than the demon version locked up in the cage. 

"Hello Dean," this Sam said, his head tilting slightly as he stared at him, not seemingly in any hurry to show what he was here for. "Getting tired yet?"

"Not yet," Dean said with a bit of a snarl as he walked over to this new version of Sam. "So who are you? Larry, Curly, or Moe?" 

A flicker of amusement filtered over this Sam’s face before it disappeared and he had that cold look in his eyes once more. "Funny. I know your thing though, hide your fear behind humor, make jokes to hide just how scared you are."

"Look I just want to save my brother," Dean shot out, rubbing at his chest, finger catching at the edge of his jacket out of habit ever since he had.... 

Whatever.

This Sam’s eyes flickered down to Dean’s chest and he gave a snort. "You don't know who I am," he stated. "But you should Dean, we spent almost a year together. I'd almost be hurt that you don't remember me, if I could get hurt at all."

The words triggered the memory in Dean’s mind and he narrowed his eyes at this version of Sam. "What the hell is the Soulless version of my brother doing in his mind?"

Soulless Sam smiled and even gave a small chuckle. "What wouldn't I be doing here? I live here Dean; I am a part of Sam after all, a big part."

"I thought we got rid of you when he got his soul back," Dean shot at him. "How did you stay here?"

Soulless shrugged. "Memories? Guilt? Something deep anchoring me here," he shrugged once more. "Doesn't matter, not here to discuss philosophy with you. I'm here to show you one of our more painful memories."

"I am sick and tired of seeing these memories," Dean snapped at him. "My brother is dying and I need to get him awake now, I've had enough of these games."

Soulless considered that for a moment before bringing his hand up and snapping his fingers. Immediately the scenery changed into a memory. "Nah."

Looking around, Dean easily spotted Sam at a table covered completely in books and notes and the glow of the laptop illuminated the deep bags under Sam’s eyes, the thin lines on his face, the weariness of his eyes. 

"When is this? Not when he was soulless," Dean said with a snort. "Too much emotion on his face."

Soulless glanced at him once more and then gave a snort of his own at Sam. "I agree actually, too much emotion, too much investment in something that shouldn't be so important."

Dean glared at Soulless and walked over to the memory of Sam, kneeling in front of him and reaching out to want to stroke the strands of the hair away from his face, but as his hand went through he was reminded that he was just an observer here. 

"There's a reason I'm the one to be the one to show this memory to you," Soulless said as Sam slumped in his seat, head in his hands moaning slightly. "It’s painful to them, too damn painful. Not physical, that we can all handle, it’s the emotions that make this memory unbearable to the point that even when you throw it into our faces we can't gather the strength to go back to it and correct you."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean demanded, whirling around to face him. "When is this?"

Soulless stared at him evenly. "It’s something you keep throwing back in our faces again, and again, and again. No matter what. You keep thinking one thing and we can't correct you," he gave a sneer. "Because it’s too painful for us to think about so we let you be an idiot and leave you to your thoughts."

Sam moved to take his cell phone, staring at it hopelessly before he dialed a number and brought the phone up to his ear, listening with a desperate look on his face. Through the phone Dean could hear his own voice, his voicemail, before the beep and Sam closed his eyes, slumping forward once more. He could see a few tears roll down his brother’s face onto the books.

"I don't want to see this," Dean said, turning away. He didn't want to see his brother crying and falling to pieces when he couldn't do a damn thing. He didn't want to see just how helpless he was and how he couldn't even hug his little brother. 

"Too bad, because it’s getting to a good part," Soulless said as he leaned against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other. "Know where we are now?"

Sam slowly got up and started to clear the table, stacking the books together and putting all the papers into a single folder. He grabbed a bag and placed everything into it, before sliding his laptop into the bag as well. Throwing the motel key on the now clean table Sam walked out of the room, towards the Impala. 

"This was at a low point in our lives, one of the lowest actually," Soulless said as they followed Sam, unable to go anywhere else. "Poor Sam kept trying and trying, bringing himself to the point of exhaustion multiple times, so damn desperate."

"For what?" Dean asked as he watched Sam get into the Impala and then they were in the backseat, watching him pull out of the parking lot. 

"Cliff," he heard Sam mumble. "Just gotta find a cliff. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I can't. I'm sorry, I can't."

Dean looked around the Impala, trying to find a clue to what the hell was going on or when he was. "What does he mean, 'find a cliff'?"

Soulless looked at him like he was stupid. "Why do you think he's looking for a cliff?"

It took a moment, but then Dean was able to understand the meaning of the words. 

"He's going to try to kill himself?" he asked in horror before lunging forward and trying to get Sam’s attention. "Sam! Hey, Sam! Listen to me!"

"I can't do this without you, Dean." Sam said, his hands tight around the wheel, tears in his eyes. He didn't seem to hear Dean. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, you can yell at me when we're together again, I'm sorry, I just...I can't do it anymore."

"You're embarrassing yourself, stop that." Soulless said reaching out and grabbing Dean by the collar and dragging him back to the backseat. "He's alive-ish, out in the real world. He obviously doesn't manage to kill himself now."

Despite the relief that should be rushing through him, it didn't really manage to calm Dean down. 

"How?" Dean demanded. "What stops him?"

Soulless smiled and held a finger out, pointing towards the windshield, just in time for a loud thump to fill the air and the sound of a cut off yelp to mix with the brakes suddenly being applied as hard as they could be. 

Breathing heavily, Sam was slouched over the steering wheel, fingers tight around the wheel to the point that his knuckles were turning white. When whines and whimpers started to sound he came to life and got out of the Impala.

"Oh god," they heard him say. Dean could see Sam moving to take his jacket off and wrap it around something before the backdoor opened and something was deposited on their laps. 

"It’s going to be okay, boy," Sam told the bundle in their arms. "It’s going to be okay, I'm going to get you help, don't worry, I'm going to take care of you."

There in their laps, wrapped in Sam’s bloody jacket and dizzy with confusion and pain, was a dog, its fur damp with blood and small whines escaping its throat. 

"So, what have we learned here?" Soulless said, not bothered at all at the half dead, blood-covered dog in their laps. "We know something, what you've been telling everyone that's been listening, making sure people know just how disappointed and angry you were at Sam, I know that you and Castiel went to purgatory and Sam...?"

"....hit a dog," Dean said, staring at the dog, feeling as if something was clawing up in his chest and wrapping its claws into his heart. Bile started to rise in his throat as he looked back up at his brother, who got back at the wheel and turned the car around, going back towards town. 

"Right before he was trying to find a cliff to drive off," Soulless confirmed. "So, still feel like telling everyone you meet that 'You went to purgatory and Sam hit a dog'?"

Suddenly the memory was over and they were back in the dark room once more, Dean breathing heavily and trying not to throw up everything in his stomach.

"That memory is painful enough without you adding to it," Soulless said, grabbing a chair, turning it backwards and straddling it. "But then you add your two cents and well, it just becomes too much to the point that we almost block it out. Almost."

"Except you," Dean said, voice heavy as he swallowed. "You seem to remember it just fine."

"I remember all of them," Soulless said shrugging. "I'm the part that doesn't have emotions, even the Boy King has emotions. I don't, so I'm the one that keeps those at bay, the more painful they are, the harder it is to guard for one of us that feels them personally. I don't care."

Dean swallowed once more and closed his eyes, trying to will himself to keep going and keep doing this, Sam was depending on him. 

"The worst part is just how weak it makes us, how stupid, how vulnerable," Soulless continued. "When I was in control nothing scared us and we were a great hunter, muscle and strength. Now? Now we're weak and dying again. Made weak by memories, something that can't, shouldn't, control us anymore. A damn voicemail that we still have saved on our phone, you and always you. We're dying Dean, and I'm thankful for it. And there's nothing you can do about it."

Whirling around with a snarl on his lips, Dean stopped when he realized Stanford was sitting there once more, the ever present book in hands. 

"Done yet?" he asked turning the page. A door appeared to their sides. "If you are, the door's right there. Go through it and you'll wake up."

Dean straightened up and shook his head. "Not without Sam," he said. 

Stanford shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"What the hell are you even reading?" Dean snapped, finally losing his temper at the fact that a book was apparently more interesting to Stanford than him. 

Stanford snickered and closed his book once more before extending it out to him. "Go ahead, take a peek then."

Glaring at the younger man Dean took the book from him and opened it to a random page, only for his anger to leave him almost immediately at the sight of him and Sam laughing together, they were sitting on the same couch, sharing beer and snacks, and just laughing with one another.

"Memories are held differently for everyone, for us its books; I'm sure for you its tapes or something similar," Stanford told him, leaning back in his chair once more. "You really thought I was reading something? I just wanted to see some good memories before we go."

There it was again, the notion that Sam was going to just let himself die and that there wasn't anything that Dean could do about it.

Dean stared at the picture of the two of them, desperately wishing that he was a part of that again, that Sam was with him and they were laughing, holding hands, maybe making fun of some horror movie or TV show. His heart clenched with how much he wanted to be a part of that. He closed the book softly and clung to it for a moment before he let it go and it disappeared. 

"Listen, just please, tell me, where is Sam?" Dean asked in an almost pleading voice only to find that Stanford was gone and the cage was back in place. 

Boy King was staring at him once more. "Sam is all of us, we are all of Sam. It’s really simple actually," he said. 

Dean walked up to the cage once more, staring down at the demonified version of his brother. He was elevated this time in his chains, wrapped up tight with his toes not even touching the ground, the ever present collar and handcuffs and ankle cuffs on him. Dean felt his breathing being constricted just by looking at him.

"That's not what I mean and you know it," Dean said. He swallowed and forced himself to keep going, staring at the yellow eyes that were so similar to Azazel he felt like he was going to lose his lunch, by some miracle he had kept it down so far. "You all want to die, I get it, but there has to be, there has to damn be, one of you that wants to keep living, show me that one, show me the one that wants to keep fighting."

"We're tired, Dean," a young voice said sadly from behind him. A young version of Sam walked to his side and looked up at him, tears in his eyes and his voice wavering. "We're really tired and we just want to go to sleep now, we've fought enough."

Stanford was suddenly back in place of the child. "We've sacrificed enough," he said in a small voice, a picture of Jess in his hands. He stroked over the picture. "We've given up enough."

"It’s too damn hard," the Sam from when Dean went to Hell was there. "We can't keep going forever Dean, there's a limit even to us."

"Stop it," Dean said tightly, trying to look away. "Just stop it! You can keep going, you can keep trying!"

"Stop being so damn selfish, constantly thinking of yourself and no one else," Soulless snapped at him. "We've reached the end multiple times and something always dragged us back, we're done, Dean! It’s time for us to be selfish for once in our lives. We. Are. Done!"

"No, you're not!" Dean shouted at him, at them, at all of them. "No you're not, you cannot die Sam, you can't!"

"Why?" Boy King asked quietly, suddenly. The Sams next to him and Dean looked at him. "Why can't we die? We have that right to choose whether we live or die."

"Because...because...." Dean was at a loss, trying to find the right words, the ones to make Sam stay. That the world needed him. Their friends needed him. There was too much to do for him to just die right now. There was so much more to live for. That....that....that....

All empty words. 

"Because I need you to," he finally confessed. "Because I need my little brother more than anything else, I need him with me. Screw people, screw earth, screw every level and everything. I..." his voice cracked and broke but he pushed on. "I need my brother. I just....I need him."

"If you want to apologize we're all here, we're all listening," Sam, all the Sams, said quietly next to him. Boy King just stared at him silently, appraisingly. "Just say it and let us go."

Dean shook his head before the Sam had even finished talking. "It’s not just about apologizing, it’s more than that. It’s....it's Sam and Dean. It's brothers, it's lovers, I want him with me again, I want to be with him. I can't keep living without my brother; I don't want to live without my brother. I don't know how to do it without him. We've been through a lot," his words came out as a gasp as he struggled to get his breath. He hadn't said this much in a long time, let alone how he felt towards his brother. "It’s....it’s...."

"Soulmates," Boy King said softly. "It's soulmates Dean."

"Yeah," Dean said roughly, feeling a single tear roll down his cheek. He rubbed the back of his hand against it. "It's soulmates. I don't want to live in a world without him, I don't know how. It’s all I've known since I was a kid. Since dad-"

The scene changed suddenly, almost jerkily. There was no Sam anywhere anymore, not even Boy King. Shaking his head he looked around to see where he was, surprised that he was in a nursery, one that he recognized in some of the deepest corners of his mind. This was something pure, something innocent, untouched. Something that was almost even sacrilegious to say out loud after everything. 

This was Sam’s nursery.

Realizing just where this version of Sam was, Dean swallowed and walked over carefully to the crib, placing one hand on its side and peering into it. 

Infant Sammy stared up at him, a smile on his toothless mouth, a small fluff of hair, wrapped up carefully in soft blue and white blankets. 

And unlike the other memories, this Sammy was staring right up at Dean, a smile on his face, bright eyes, and so damn innocent that it almost brought more tears to Dean's eyes. 

"Hey Sammy," he said in a softer voice than he ever thought he could possibly make. He hesitated only for a moment before reaching in and carefully sliding his hands under Sammy to gently pick him up. 

He was a warm soft bundle in his arms and Dean held him close to his heart, just where Sam belonged and only Sam owned. Looking around the room he spotted the rocking chair and walked over to it, sitting down and leaning back as he held Sammy close to him. 

"I'm sorry, kiddo." Dean murmured to him. Sammy’s eyes were young and old at the same time as they stared up at him. "I can't believe that...it got to this, that we're in this position."

A small bitter laugh escaped him. "God, I've been an idiot." he breathed out, shaking his head and reaching out to stroke over Sammy’s head. "I've just been a pure damn idiot."

He knew why he was in this scene, maybe it wasn't a memory, seeing as this Sammy knew and saw him. Maybe this was just another part of Sam, a small part of him hoped that this was the real Sam, the soul part that he needed to bring to the forefront, but he also knew that it wasn't going to be that easy. 

Small hands touched at his face and he looked down, smiling at Sammy who was trying to reach for him. Leaning forward he brushed his lips against the top of Sammy’s head; he smelled like baby powder, clean cloth, a pure baby smell, and something that was just a hint of Sam. Maybe that wasn't even a scent but something a core of him recognized more than anything. More familiar to him than even the Impala and anything else possible. 

"I'm sorry, little brother." Dean murmured. "I'm so sorry, I haven't been there for you, I've been a burden, and worse, I've made things even harder for you."

He opened his eyes to stare at the child in his arms, remembering when Sam had been born and their parents had carefully placed him in his arms to introduce him to his little brother. 

How dad had placed Sammy in his arms during the fire and he had run out with his brother in his arms, away from the fire and towards safety.

How he had tried to never let go but ultimately either had to, or worse pushed Sam out of his arms. 

"I don't get the point of this one," he murmured, content just staring at his brother who was still looking up at him. "But I'll take it, I'll take it, just..." he bowed his head. “Don’t leave me Sammy, I can't live without you, please don't leave me."

His voice got choked up but he still forced the words out. "I'm so sorry, please don't leave me."

"Dean, open your eyes."

When Dean obeyed the voice he was no longer in Sammy’s nursery, Sammy wasn't in his arms anymore, and he was back in front of the cage.

"You mentioned that you believe there is a part of us, perhaps even some of us that want to stay alive even though everyone voted and wishes for death," Boy King said quietly, staring at him. 

Dean nodded and straightened up, not entirely sure he could speak at the moment.

Boy King gave a sigh and leaned back in his chains, an unreadable expression on his face. "Not everyone gets a vote, Dean." he said. "The other versions might have said that we are a democracy with everyone getting a vote, but it’s not entirely true. I don't have a vote."

"Why not?"

He shrugged as best as he could. "Perhaps because I am a demon, I am the Boy King. Maybe it’s because I am the part they all wish they could forget, get rid of. They've tried multiple exorcisms on me but it only ended hurting Sam the host. So," he rattled the chains. "Here I am."

"I'm not letting you out." Dean told him.

"I'm not asking you to," Boy King shot back. "But the point of the matter is, that despite not having a vote, I still hear the votes. I can still influence Sam in the slightest way. Not much, not enough to make him want to take his crown or anything. But enough to...well, keep him living."

Dean’s shoulders slumped downward slightly. "You're the only one that wants to live," he said quietly. 

Boy King shook his head. "I'm one of them, there are three including me, that want to live."

Dean looked up desperately at that. "Who? Who else wants Sam to live?"

"The first is the one you just saw, the infant Sam," Boy King told him. "He's a bit unique, untouched by everyone and everything that's happened, he's the most innocent we have ever been and he's the purest, he's the one that's the most hopeful in the fact that life can be good and will get better. I have no idea if the child gets a vote or not. The third one is different as well. He's not a memory, he's not an entity like you've seen so far, and he gets no vote either," Boy King told him. "He doesn't have a name but we gave him a title, he's called the Guardian and if you continue to try to find Sam’s soul, you'll find him."

Boy King looked over his shoulder and then around them to make sure that they were alone. He straightened as best as he could once more. "I'm doing you a favor, no one else but me, the infant, and the Guardian wants Sam to live. You've convinced the infant, I'm always wanting to live due to my own hope as well, but you need to convince the Guardian of that because he's the one, well, guarding Sam’s soul."

"And what's the favor?" Dean asked. 

Boy King smirked, his hands curling around the chains until he was holding onto them tightly. He dug his fingers into the separate chains and for a moment his eyes flashed a darker yellow. "I'm getting you to the door where Sam’s soul is."

He pulled the chains down as hard as he could, the top of the cage groaning and creaking, the metal breaking. The runes were cut through and their glow faded just as the other chains fell off of Boy King who then straightened up and stood up tall. There was a crackling in the air as he snapped his fingers, a rush of power clear as anything that Dean could almost taste it. 

The ground was shaking under his feet and he stumbled back, unable to keep his balance, his back hitting something solid. Looking behind him he realized that he was against a wooden door. 

"Behind there is the Guardian, he'll lead the way to the door." Boy King said as he stretched his arms, the bones cracking loudly as they realigned. "Now get out of here, someone will be here soon to put me back." 

Turning to grasp the doorknob Dean looked back at the demon, at this dark side of Sam, who was staring at him, clothes rumpled and in a familiar white suit that had been hidden by the wide chains. "Thank you."

Boy King nodded and waved his hand. "Go, save us."

Without wasting another moment Dean opened the door and ran through it, letting it close behind him, not hesitating one bit as he ran down a hallway. It was completely similar to the room he had just left except for one thing.

He could see another door at the end of the hall, on it was the name 'Samuel Michael Winchester' carved onto the wood. 

Mindful of the warning that there was a guardian here Dean kept his guard up as he tried to get to the door. He was just a few feet away, could actually reach out and have his fingertips brush against the doorknob, before someone grabbed his arm and pulled him back, throwing him away from the door and stepping in front of him and in between him and the door. 

Growling, Dean looked up and realized just who the Guardian was.

He was staring at himself. Straightened up, the familiar leather jacket on him, and an even more familiar amulet on his neck against his chest, almost against his heart. He was younger as well, if he had to guess he would say that it was him from before he even went to Hell. 

Before the demon blood. Before Hell. Before Lucifer. Before purgatory and before the trials. 

Before everything went to hell, including them, in every single damn sense. 

The other Dean, the Guardian, straightened up more and spread his feet out, ready to attack him once more, or at least defend the door from him. 

Breathing heavily Dean straightened up, staring at himself; his eyes flickering to the amulet more than once, and greater than ever he realized just how much he missed the weight of it on his neck. 

"I need to get to Sam," he said simply. "I need to get to him; I need to get him to realize that he needs to live."

The Guardian's eyes narrowed slightly, his hands curling into fists. "No one is getting to Sam," he said curtly, his voice sounding perfectly like Deans. "I don't give a damn who you are; he's had enough, leave him alone."

"If we leave him alone, he's going to die," Dean pointed out, as the door he had just come through started being jostled. Someone was attempting to open it but to no avail. He didn't look away from the Guardian. "I'm here to make sure that it doesn't happen."

Guardian didn't say anything, just stared at him, fists still ready at his sides. 

Dean took the chance and stepped closer to him. "I know you're one of only three that wants Sam to live so please, let me through. Let me talk to him."

A strange emotion flickered past Guardians eyes and he averted his gaze for a moment. "I want Sam to live," he said quietly. "But I also want him to be happy, he shouldn't want to die, he should be fighting but...." he let out a sigh. “He’s my little brother, my charge; I'm protecting him from everything."

"Protecting him from everything means protecting him from himself," Dean said stepping even closer to him. "It means doing what's best for him even if he doesn’t realize it."

"The best for him wasn't the demon detox room but we did that anyway," Guardian said looking up at him. "Constantly blaming him and bringing up the past, that's not what's best for him. It hurts him and I need to protect him from what's trying to hurt him."

"That doesn't include me," Dean tried to argue only to be pushed away from the door once more. 

"That does include you." Guardian said looking up at him. "You are the biggest threat there is to protect him from. You're not good to him, not anymore, and I need to protect him from you too."

Dean swallowed and leaned back on his heels, glancing behind him at the door he came from; it was still being jostled and rattling, like someone was trying to get through it. 

"I owe him an apology, more than anything," he said quietly. "But I can't do it in here, I'm not going to say it to some form of him, some memory or some being, I'm going to tell it to him." He clenched his fist tightly, nails digging into his palm. "And I'm not going to tell his soul, I'm going to tell him, when he's awake, outside there in the real world. He's going to wake up and I'm going to apologize, he can decide whether or not he accepts it or wants to have anything to do with me, but after he wakes up and he's alive."

He took in a deep shuddering breath and looked up pleadingly at Guardian. "Please," he said, pleaded, begged. "Please, let me through."

"You don't love him, not as you used to," Guardian said. "It used to be good, before everything happened that ruined the both of you." He shook his head and turned away, looking at the door with Sam’s name on it. "I'm the one that loved him unconditionally. I'm the one that protects him no matter what. I'm the you that he misses the most, I'm the one that needs him."

"I need him," Dean said, his voice still quiet. "I need him more than anything else."

Guardian walked away from him, one hand reaching out to trace Sam’s name on the wooden door. "You have Castiel. You have Jody. You have Charlie, Garth, Kristy. You have so many other people Dean, Sam doesn't, everyone you two know look to you first and focus on you. You are the one that has the profound bond with all, Sam is the overlooked brother, he has no one else but you, his friends were all taken from him in one way or the other." He looked back at Dean. "I understand why he's tried to kill himself, every time he has tried I understand, I don't like it but in the end, I want his happiness, I want him to smile, so I don't do anything but guard his soul, it’s been through enough without adding to it."

"How many times did he try to kill himself?" Dean asked despite himself, he wanted to know and at the same time he never wanted to know. 

Guardian shrugged. "We lost count around the time that Sam learned he was Lucifer’s vessel." he said. "When Lucifer told him that he was his real vessel Sam threatened to kill himself to prevent Lucifer from getting to him, Lucifer simply told him that he would bring him back. And he did, every time."

Dean’s mind flashed back to the phone call he got from Sam, the desperation in Sam’s voice, the shrill panic.

And how he had dismissed him and hung up on him. 

Guardian nodded as if he could read Deans mind. "The first one was immediately after the phone call between the two of you. He shot himself in the head; Lucifer brought him back within moments, blood still on the wall and gun in his hand."

Dean swallowed heavily, he was learning more and more about his brother, and while he knew he needed to know it, needed to know this side of Sam, he couldn't help but hate it. He breathed out and looked up at the door with Sam’s name, and swore that his heart skipped a beat in his chest.

"What's in there?" Dean asked motioning to the other door. 

Guardian glanced back at it once more. "Souls have their own room in their minds, somewhere they go to when they can't handle everything anymore, when they're waiting for death to come for them. Its home."

"Home," Dean repeated. "So like...just the place where it’s a home for their soul?"

Guardian shook his head. "The safest place people feel are in their homes, the one place they know they are safe and loved, they can rest and just relax."

"The bunker," Dean stated. "Safest place in the world, it’s our home."

Guardian looked back at Dean. "You sure about that?"

The door behind them opened suddenly and when Dean looked back he saw Soulless Sam coming into the room they were in, his lips curled into an unpleasant frown. 

"You've been far enough Dean, it’s time for you to leave." he said striding towards them. 

Dean was about to make a run for the other door either way when a hand came down on his shoulder. Looking back he saw Guardian had his hand on his shoulder. They shared a look, laden with unspoken words and the same love for Sam. 

Guardian pressed down a bit more and then pulled him behind him. "Go," he said quietly, stepping in front of Dean and in between him and Soulless. "Convince him."

Nodding, Dean turned and ran to the door, barely able to hear Soulless's shout of disapproval as he opened the door, his eyes skimming over the name written before stepping inside. 

It wasn't a memory, he could actually feel the sunshine from above him, the field he was in was a lush garden; green grass with flowers everywhere. Dimly he thought he could hear birds calling to one another. There were grown trees all around, their leaves alive and well and there was a river he could hear flowing a few yards away. 

But the most attention grabbing was the Impala, parked on the road next to the field. Her black paint shined against the sunlight, gleaming and beautiful. He could hear soft rock music from the closed car and through the window, and more importantly; he could see someone sitting in the passenger seat. 

Sprinting forward Dean ran to the Impala, elevated at the fact that he finally, finally, managed to get to his brother, not some memory or some form. But his real brother. 

Opening the driver’s side door Dean kneeled down, knee on the leather seat, arm extending towards his brother however he froze when he really saw just how Sam’s soul looked like. 

Sam’s soul was still bright as anything, almost blindingly bright in its pureness, but at the same time he was covered in dried blood and sweat, matted all over his skin and hair. He was all but completely covered in scars, healed over and jagged, that left rough marks on him. He hated to, but he could only compare it to Boy King back in the cage when he realized that Sam was wrapped and bound in chains as well, familiar handcuffs, ankle cuffs, and a thick neck cuff imprisoning him.

There were Enochian letters burned into his skin around his wrists almost like a bracelet that curled up in white and black lines going up his arms. From those lines he could see bits and pieces of grace shining through every few moments. A corner of his mind and soul recognized Michael's grace and the other one, the one that shined even brighter, could only be Lucifer’s grace as well. 

Sam’s soul was scarred, marked, tortured, and riddled with marks of abuse; some of the chains were embedded into Sam’s very skin, leaving bumps and pressing against the skin, along his arms and around his neck almost like a collar. The chains and the grace lines glowed under Sam’s skin, occasionally black lines would appear and course their way up around Sam, mainly around his face and on his neck. 

There were weights, a corner of Dean’s mind noted; the part that wasn't completely and utterly horrified. Weights that were attached to Sam’s wrists and his ankles, keeping him anchored to the ground, unable to move due to their weights. Some of them had words written on them, some of them were names and others were events. 

Sam’s soul was, plainly speaking, broken, destroyed. There were fresh wounds on him, specifically on his wrists, that were still bleeding heavily. His head was bowed and his eyes were closed as he listened to the soft rock that was playing from the tape player. He either didn't pay attention to Dean or hadn't realized that Dean was even there. 

Swallowing heavily Dean reached out and into the glove compartment, finally getting Sam’s attention. He couldn't bring his head up completely but he managed to turn his head to the side enough to look at him. 

"Dean?" he asked, confusion in his voice. Dean felt his heart break at how young Sammy sounded.

Dean smiled at him even though he was sure it looked as strained as it felt. "Hey Sammy." he said in a heavy voice, trying to keep it soft. He opened the glove compartment and pulled out two bandanas. Taking each he wrapped them around Sam’s bleeding wrists tight enough to try to stifle the blood but not hurt him. "I'm here to take you home."

Sam stared at him incredulously, as if he didn't believe what he was seeing. He glanced down at his down covered wrists and clenched his fists. "What...what are you doing here?" he asked. 

"Like I said, I'm here to bring you home." Dean said, reaching out to cup Sam’s face. He rubbed his thumb over Sam’s cheek; it felt rough with all the dried blood on him. "It’s time to come home, Sammy."

Sam stared at him for another moment before pulling away, leaning back into his seat and staring out the window. "I am home."

Dean shook his head. "I mean the home outside, I mean the one with me, Sammy. You're...you're dying man, I need to save you."

"Need to save me," Sam repeated quietly, still staring out the window. He rubbed his fingers against the bandanas on his wrists. "Like you needed to save me when you put Gadreel inside of me and that ended up killing Kevin? Like you needed to save me when my death could've meant something, like closing the gates of Hell? Like you needed to save me by putting me in the panic room so many times." He closed his eyes. "I don't want to go anywhere. It’s nice here, I don't want to leave."

"This isn't real Sam; this is just...some scenario your mind made up." Dean told him. "Sam, you're dying out in the real world, you need to come with me; this is not real."

"I know," was whispered so quietly Dean barely heard it however once he did he fell silent. "I know it’s not real, I know that I'm dying." He lifted his wrists up slightly, not getting far with the handcuffs on him and let them fall back onto his lap. "I know what slit wrists mean, I'm not that much of an idiot."

"You're not at all an idiot," Dean said almost immediately. "Sometimes you’re a bit foolish, but you're not an idiot."

"I was an idiot enough to listen to Ruby. I was an idiot enough to drink demon blood. I was an idiot enough to free Lucifer and I was an idiot enough to stop the trials," Sam said with a touch of bitterness in his voice. "I'm an idiot."

"The trials would have killed you, Sam, I was the one begging you to stop them," Dean reminded him, reaching out to grip Sam’s shoulder tightly. "Lucifer being freed wasn't your fault and Ruby was manipulating you, it’s not your fault Sam, none of it."

"I tried to look for you when you were in purgatory, but there wasn't anything I could find, no one to ask. Bobby was dead, the angels wouldn't give a time of day, Crowley wasn't answering, and no demons were willing to make a deal." Sam told him. "I couldn't find anything that disproved that you weren't in heaven where you belonged so....I couldn't handle life without you anymore."

"I know, I saw it," Dean said, his hand tightening on Sam momentarily. "You should've told me Sam, all this time...you should've told me."

"Should've told you a lot of things. Should've told you about Ruby and the demon blood and being soulless and the hallucinations and everything," Sam said, eyes withdrawn as he looked at something only he could see. "All I've been is a disappointment to you, Dean."

"Never in a million years." Dean urged, trying to get Sam to face him once more to no avail. 

"Couldn't even complete the trials, so many things would be better if I finished them. Hell would be closed and no more demons," Sam continued. "And I wouldn't be here to burden you; you could go on with your life and not have to think about how I'm lying to you now or what I'm hiding now."

It took him a moment to realize that his hand was shaking and that he was blinking back tears. 

"Sammy," Dean said in a broken voice, trying to clear his throat and trying to keep his composure. "Sammy....I'm sorry."

There was a hint of amusement on Sam’s face at that however it quickly disappeared. "You're just saying that."

Dean shook his head, bringing his other hand up to wipe at his eyes. "I don't, I mean it, I mean more than that but...I don't think I have enough words to properly say it."

Sam finally turned his head to look at him once more, his head resting against the seat, the collar preventing him from completely leaning back. He stared at Dean and then shook his head. "No, you're just lying or something, trying to get me to go back, but I don't want to go back Dean, let me stay here."

"Can't, Sammy," Dean said reaching out to cup Sam’s cheek once more, to keep him from turning his face away again. "I can't let you go like that, I just can't."

"Why can't I just do this, why can't you just let me do this one selfish thing?" Sam whispered. "I know I've always been selfish, I've always did things my way and I never listened to you, but this is the last one, I promise. This is my last selfish thing, please let me have it."

"I can't do that Sammy." Dean said shaking his head a bit more viciously now. "I'm selfish too little brother, I don't want to live without you, I'm selfish and I don't want you to leave me."

"All I do is drag you down." Sam protested, his head bowing slightly into Deans hand. "I'm a burden, it'll be better if I was gone." He let out a small shuddering breath. "It'll be better for everyone if I was gone."

"Not for me, it will never be better for me," Dean protested, trying to catch Sam’s drifting gaze. His brother kept moving his eyes around to keep from looking Dean in the eyes. "Don't you remember? I sold my soul for you the second I could."

"That was a different time, a different life." Sam said lowly. "That was a time that you still loved me, before I fucked up again and again. Before I became a burden." He finally looked Dean in the eyes and smiled, more than anything that smile shattered his heart because Sam looked resigned, looked as if he was accepting his fate wholly. 

He had the same look in his eyes when he had decided that throwing himself into the cage with Lucifer and Michael was the best option that he had. 

"I want to die, if only to free you. Without me, you're free," he said, and Dean felt like throwing up when he realized he could hear a small tinge of laugher in Sam’s voice. Delight, even a small bit of happiness. "Without me, the burden is gone. You never have to worry about how I ruined things now or who I got killed or what I messed up." He gave another laugh. "You'll finally be free, big brother."

"That's not freedom, that's loneliness and emptiness, that's being alone," Dean retorted. Desperation clawed up and gripped his heart; he was running out of time, he had no idea how long he had left. He almost expected a reaper to be appearing any second to yank his brother away. 

"If you die, there's nothing left for me." Dean said, trying with everything he had to get through to Sam. "Nothing, Sam."

"That used to be true, back when it was you and me, Sam and Dean Winchester against the rest of the world," Sam said with a touch of bitterness. "But you have so many other people now, you have Cas, you have Charlie, you have everyone else. You don't need me, you have them."

"You're worth more than them, Sam." Dean said harshly, but honestly. "You're worth ten of each of them and more, there's no one that's more important to me than you."

For a moment Sam seemed to be listening, even if he didn't believe the words he was listening to. He didn't say anything but he did pull away from Dean, letting himself slide out of Dean's grip and averting his gaze back to his lap.

"Doesn't really matter." he mumbled. "I'm already dying, there's nothing you can do to stop that Dean. I want to leave. I'm tired, I want to sleep, and I've had enough."

Dean let his hands fall to the seats, staring at his brother desperately, there had to be something he could do, anything that he could do, he had to.....he needed to....he had to....

He didn't know what to do. 

He couldn't lift Sam up, not with all those weights. There wasn't anything to pick the handcuffs with that he could see and there wasn't anything he had to break them. He didn't even know if he could break them, they looked to be made of pure iron.

Maybe it wasn't actions that needed to be done, maybe he could convince Sam to come with him.

Words had never been his strong point, he had always relied on his brother knowing him and knowing what made him tick and what he meant. 

He needed to just man up and confess his emotions to his brother; he needed to save his brother. He didn't know how much time he had left, maybe Sam’s body was already dead outside and his soul was just catching up slowly. 

"It’s time to go home Sammy." Dean said gently, wrapping his hands around Sam’s wrists for a moment, long enough for the blood to soak through the bandanas onto his skin. He moved down and gripped Sam’s hands instead. He felt the callouses and he felt how thin his fingers were, he gripped them firmly yet at the same time gently enough so that they wouldn't break or get hurt. "It’s time to go home."

"The bunker." Sam mumbled, his fingers shaking slightly in Deans grasp. "The bunker isn't home Dean, I don't think it ever will be. It’s nice, it’s a house, but it’s not a home. Home is....something I never had."

"Yes you did," Dean said lacing the fingers of one hand with one of Sam’s. He moved himself forward and brought Sam to him as much as his brother could from his trappings. They moved until Sam’s hand was pressed against Dean’s chest, against his heart. "You've always had a home, baby boy, right here. With me." He finally leaned over and kissed Sam softly, chastely, on the lips. "And the Impala. This was our home, this is your home." He pressed Sam’s hand a bit firmer against his chest so that he could feel the heart that sometimes only beat for him. 

"You've always had a home, baby boy." Dean told him, feeling Sam’s fingers spread along his chest. "You always had a place to belong to, someone to belong to, someone who loved you. Yeah, we've both made mistakes. Yeah, we both said things we didn't mean."

His other hand held onto Sam’s hand tightly. "I've been....a crap brother lately, I can't even remember the last time I told you that I loved you. I can't remember the last time I held you or even the last time I hugged you. I can't remember the last time we made love, I can't remember the last time I claimed you as mine."

He looked up, feeling some sort of relief that Sam was still looking at him. "I love you, Sam," he said heartfelt and true, the truth he knew down to his bone marrow, the words that were imprinted on his heart and soul. "The world is alive because of you, because you had the strength to do what had to be done. You've done so much more good than bad Sam, you're so strong, you are amazing."

He leaned over to kiss Sam once more, this time Sam moved his lips a bit as well, meeting Dean's kiss. It was kept chaste and simple, yet so full of meaning that Dean felt his throat close up slightly. 

"I love you, Sam." he murmured. "I love you, so much, baby boy. I can't live without you Sammy, I don't want to, I don't know if it’s even possible for me to do it. We haven't been together in a long time, not in the way we're supposed to be and God forgive me I miss it."

"You're the one that didn't go back to it." Sam mumbled. 

"Because I was stupid, because I was hurt that you were back from Hell and didn't tell me, that you were soulless and that-" he stopped himself and shook his head. "I'm making excuses, I know that now. I...I was mad, that was it, I was mad and I wanted to hurt you, and that was the best way to get it across to you."

"I've missed it." Sam whispered hollowly. "You have no idea how much I've missed it, how much I've missed you."

"I know, I've missed it too." Dean said holding onto Sam’s hand as tightly as he dared. "I've missed you, little brother."

For the first time Dean felt Sam grip back at his hand and he drew strength from the motion. 

"We're brothers, we're more than that but it’s the best word for it," Dean continued. He moved up, keeping Sam’s hand on his heart and bowed his head until their foreheads touched against one another’s. He let go of Sam’s hand, thankful that Sam kept his hand against his chest. Instead he placed his hand behind Sam’s head and threaded his fingers through Sam’s hair. Through the matted and blood lumped strands he carted his fingers through. 

"I need you, Sam." he said quietly, meaningfully. "I need you. Yeah, I'm selfish, I know. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but I can't let you go, Sammy."

He brought his head up and kissed Sam’s forehead. "I love you, little brother." he murmured. "And I will not live without you."

For a long heart wrenching moment Sam didn't say anything, just stared at Dean with an unreadable expression on his face. Dean clutched their hands together desperately, hopefully. 

And then, just as suddenly, Sam disappeared. The warmth from his hands disappeared, the indent on the leather seats disappeared; as if he had never been there in the first place. 

"Sam?" Dean called, whirling his head around, trying to push down the panic. 

Was it too late? Was this what happened when a reaper took the soul?

Was he too late to save his brother?

Turning his head he felt a sob of relief claw out of his throat when he saw Sam standing next to the door. Scrambling out of the car Dean almost tripped over his feet as he got out and ran to his brother’s side.

Sam was staring at the door; the weights were illuminated in the sunlight, heavy enough with short enough chains that he was slightly slouched over. 

Reaching his side once more Dean extended his arm and lightly touched Sam’s arm. 

"You want me to go back out there." Sam said quietly. "Back to the real world and back to everything out there, everything that hurts."

Dean swallowed and nodded, keeping his hand on Sam’s arm. "It’s what's real, it’s us," he told his brother. "Life is awaiting us, together."

His brother didn't say anything but slowly turned to look at Dean. He stared at his brother and then averted his gaze back to the ground. 

"No, hey," Dean said bringing himself down a bit so that he could try to catch Sam’s eyes. "Talk to me, what's wrong?"

"There's no guarantee," Sam said, his fingers playing with the chains on his wrists. He curled his fingertips each into a separate chain. "That you'll be the same if I wake up."

Dean reached out and cupped Sam’s face once more, brushing his thumbs against his little brothers cheeks before kissing him once more, sweet and soft, like he had when they had first started that tentative relationship of theirs years ago. 

"It'll be me," Dean murmured to him, promised him. "We're going to be alright brother; it's going to be us again. Sam and Dean Winchester, against the rest of the world."

It obviously took him some movement but slowly Sam managed to get his hands up enough to grip at the ends of Deans sleeves. He was breathing heavily and when Dean looked up at him he could see that there were tears gathering in Sam’s eyes. 

"But how do I know you're going to stay?" he whispered. "How do I know that this is it for us? That we're going to stay, not break up again? I can't....I don't want to go through that again, Dean."

Feeling as if he was in the church all over again, Dean smiled and leaned forward to kiss Sam once more. 

"There is nothing past, present, or future that I would put in front of you," he told him. "Never again. It’s just you and me." He stared at his brother, feeling his heart well with everything that he felt in regards to his brother. "Come home to me, Sammy."

He could feel Sam’s entire body shaking and he looked over his shoulder once more at the door. He felt the breath that Sam took and let his hands fall from Sam’s face but kept one hand on Sam’s arm as he turned around and reached for the doorknob. 

The door opened to the first hallway and this time, the Guardian wasn't there. Sam tightened his grip on the chains attached to the weights that were dragging him down and pulled, the dull sound of stone against stone filled the air along with their footsteps as Sam pulled the weights with him as they slowly walked. 

"Can't I help?" Dean asked, already reaching towards the weights.

Sam shook his head. "Doesn't work like that, they're mine," he mumbled. 

"What are they?" Dean asked, his hand coming up to massage the back of Sam’s neck, sliding his fingers under the chains. "Why are you chained up, Sam?"

Sam was quiet for a long few moments; the only sound was the stones being dragged. They finally reached the end of the hallway and he opened the other door, leading them into the black encompass. 

Stanford wasn't there, Soulless wasn't there, even Boy King wasn't there. Dean looked around in the hopes of seeing at least one of them but it was completely empty, the chair and book were gone, there was nothing giving them a clue to where even go.

Sam seemed to know because he didn't stop his slow march, dragging them with him. 

"They're my mistakes," he finally said. "They're every time I messed up or let you down, they're my," he swallowed and looked down at them. "It’s my guilt," he said lowly. "The things that I can't let go of."

Dean looked over the weights; just seeing them made his back crack let alone be dragging them with him, forcing them to move. 

"You need to let go, man," he said quietly. "You need to put them down. Get rid of them, they're just slowing you down."

Sam turned to look at him, helpless and downtrodden. "Where am I supposed to put them then?"

Before Dean could answer Sam stopped and looked around, he let out a small sigh and pulling at his chains, not dragging them with him but more like he had as a kid pulled at the edges of his shirts. 

"Do I have my jacket with me? In the hospital?" Sam asked quietly. 

Dean nodded. "Cas grabbed it before he joined me in the hospital, thought we would need some clothes."

The rattling of the chains were hurting his ears slightly but Dean didn't say a word against it.

"There's a small pocket, on the arm." Sam mumbled, staring at the ground. "When you get back, open it, I'll know....you'll know what to do with it."

"What's inside it?" Dean asked, ready to do anything if it meant that Sam was going to wake up. 

Sam sighed and brought his head back up, trying to get his head up from the chains and the neck cuff. 

"I'm ready." he said to the emptiness, not answering Dean’s question. "I'm going back."

Dean felt a tug at his navel once more, wildly reaching out to grab at his brother before he was yanked back, feeling his entire body jerk backwards into the darkness and away from Sam. 

He let out a gasp and wrenched away as fast as he could, stumbling over his own feet, hand shooting forward and grabbing at the first thing he felt to try to keep standing. 

Castiel reached out and grabbed Dean’s arm, steadying him. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Still breathing heavily Dean turned to look at Sam, he was still pale and connected to the machines and did he even do a single thing to help? "How long was I gone?"

Castiel looked confused. "Seconds, I had just placed my hand on the both of you to get you access into Sam’s mind. What happened Dean?"

Dean swallowed and let go of the rail to reach out and take Sam’s hand. "I...I spoke to Sam, the real Sam, his soul." he closed his eyes and bowed his head. "God, I hope he'll wake up."

"He didn't tell you?" Castiel asked, placing his hand on Deans back. 

"His soul...it's messed up Cas," Dean said softly. "It’s broken and hurt and I don't know how to help it."

Castiel shook his head. "You can't, the soul...it is a fragile artifact, easily hurt and at times irreparably damaged. Sam has...been through a lot, I don't know if there is anyone that can heal his soul."

"There were weights, Sam said that they were his mistakes," Dean stumbled out. 

"We often hold our own discretions and our own mistakes against ourselves more so than anything else." Castiel told him. "The soul especially is a manifestation of any self-harm that we put on ourselves."

Dean lifted up Sam’s hand and pressed his forehead against it, gripping onto it tightly. "C'mon Sammy, wake up." he murmured. "You've got me, you know you do."

Remembering the last thing Sam had told him Dean straightened up slightly and looked around the room until he found Sam’s jacket. He squeezed Sam’s hand once more and walked over to it, finding the zipper on the arm just like Sam had said. 

Wordlessly he opened it and slid his hand into the small pocket, barely able to get more than a few fingers into it, snagging against a leather cord.

A familiar leather cord. Tugging out a familiar weight. 

The breath left him and he felt his heart rise up to his throat as he pulled out the golden horned amulet on its frayed cord out of Sam’s pocket.

"Sammy," he whispered, unable to rip his eyes off of the amulet. "All these years."

Reaching out he gripped at the amulet with his free hand, tight enough for indentions to press into his palm, and almost tight enough for it to hurt. 

He welcomes the pain, he deserves it all.

Dean brought the hand holding the amulet to his face and kissed it lightly, eyes closed and his entire body trembling. 

All these years. 

Castiel was silent as he watched Dean have his small breakdown before he finally slid the necklace back over his head and let the amulet lay over his chest, the familiar weight filling a hole he hadn't even realized was there. 

The amulet settled over his heart and with it Dean felt complete, almost complete. 

He still needed his brother to become fully complete after all.

Wiping his hand over his face to try to wipe away any stray tears that managed to escape, Dean turned and settled beside his brother once more, taking his hand and holding it tightly. 

"I'm sorry, Sam," he murmured, squeezing Sam’s hand once more. "I'm sorry."

He wasn't sure how long they remained there, a few times Castiel left and came back with either coffee or something for Dean to eat, which he did only to pacify the exangel. 

He refused to be tagged out though, Castiel had offered to remain at watch so that Dean could have a chance to get some sleep, either go back to the bunker or sleep for a few hours however Dean turned him down every time. 

He needed to be here when Sam woke up. 

Sometimes a doctor or a nurse would enter the room and look at the machines while Dean pretended not to notice their pitying looks. 

At one point a nurse was looking at a monitor and stopped, tapping the screen and seemingly reading something before glancing at Sam. Dean didn't miss the motions. 

"What?" he demanded, voice rough and harsh from not being used in hours. 

The nurse glanced at the machines screen once more and a slow smile spread on her face. "His mental readings are starting to climb," she told him. 

"That’s good right? That means something good?" Dean demanded, trying to keep his hopes from rising but at the same time hoping with everything he had that it was good. 

"It means, sweetheart," the nurse said turning to look at him with an even wider smile, "that he's waking up."

It was even longer after that the staff were all assuring him that Sam’s mental readings were getting stronger and stronger meaning that he was going to wake up practically any moment now. 

Dean was gripping Sam’s hand in both of his now, head bowed over it, eyes closed, and his mouth moving silently. He wasn't praying, not even close. He was singing, maybe it was to try to calm himself down, music always did manage to help him with his emotions, or maybe he was just trying to give his brother something to follow. 

He had already sung his entire collection of Metallica tapes, all the AC/DC and Zeppelin songs that he could remember, he even threw a few songs he knew that Sam enjoyed listening to but he pretended to hate, even more so that he pretended that he didn't know the lyrics to but sang perfectly. 

Finally, he ran out of songs, except for one, one that he hadn't sung to Sam since he had been a baby and it hadn't hurt to sing. 

_Hey Jude, don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her,"_ he sang lowly, unsure of how many times he had sung the same song over and over. _"The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better._

There was a small twitch, barely noticeable to anyone that wasn't Dean Winchester, in tune and connected to his brother since the younger one had been born. There was a small twitch of the fingers in between both of his hands. 

Dean’s eyes snapped forward but he didn't stop singing, the words continuing to carry over his lips, _"Hey Jude, don't let me down,"_ he sang. 

Sam’s fingers twitched one more time and for the first time Dean could see his eyes were moving behind his eyelids and slowly, so slowly that Dean didn't breathe, he even stopped singing in fear of missing a single moment, Sam’s beautiful hazel eyes opened. 

His eyes were unfocused, not seeing anything, even what was in front of him. But Dean felt like sobbing in relief, his brother was waking up. 

"It’s alright, take your time, Sammy," Dean said. Sam opened his eyes fully, his eyes clearing and settling on Dean. His lips parted and his eyes opened wider in surprise. 

"Dee," he rasped out, voice barely there. 

Moving quickly, Dean let one of his hands go and reached out for the glass of water Cas had left for Sam for when he woke up. There was a straw there and Dean half climbed onto the bed to support Sam as he brought the straw to his brother’s lips and Sam gratefully drank deeply from the glass until it was completely empty. 

"Dean," he mumbled, falling back on the bed, but still staring at his brother. Sam’s eyes fell on Dean’s chest for a moment, on the amulet, and his eyes widened at the sight of it. 

Dean smiled at him, relieved and beyond happy and so damn in love with his brother that he could barely speak. 

"I got you, brother. I got you Sam." he told him, reaching out to stroke over Sam’s hair. "It’s all going to be alright."

Sam’s hand came out graspingly and Dean took it in his, holding tight and never wanting to let go. 

"I got you, Sam." he repeated. One of the biggest possible truths that he is ever going to tell him. "I got you, I love you."

Sam stared at him in wonder as a nurse and a doctor entered the room at that moment, both of them wanting to talk to him, gather information, and start his treatment. 

But for the single moment, they were the only ones in the world. 

"Dean," Sam said, eyes already drooping as he was ready to go back to sleep. 

Dean smiled at him and squeezed Sam’s hand, reassured in Sam’s, albeit weak, grip back. "I'm here Sam, I got you little brother."

"Promise?" Sam mumbled, holding onto Dean’s hand with everything he had. 

"Always," Dean swore to him. He leaned over and kissed Sam’s forehead, he couldn't kiss him on the lips just yet, the doctor and the nurse were still there and they knew they were brothers. 

"Always, Sam."

**Author's Note:**

> Good. God. Where do I begin? First a big, huge thank you to my beta Emily who was amazing and managed to work her way through my monstrous story and give me a title idea, and to NSA who had started to beta but unfortunately wasn’t able to complete it. An amazing thank you to my dear artist Pan who made beautiful art that I just can't stop looking at over and over, and who was indefinitely patient with me getting back to her emails. This piece of work took endless nights and working through my finals week at school to get through and finally, I managed to get it done. Thank you every one, I couldn’t have done it without you.


End file.
